Losing Control: 2

by Tina Donahue

  Her love for him never had a chance. Better get used to it.

  Chapter Thirteen

  He awoke at sunrise, groggy from booze, sex and frustrating dreams of chasing Catherine down the District’s streets with her just out of his reach. He called her name repeatedly.

  “Mr. Bellamy,” she had answered, distant, mocking, her back to him.

  Lifting his arm from his eyes, Tim curled his upper lip at the rising sun pouring into the room beneath the awnings. He should have closed the shutters before they’d gone to bed—he didn’t want the light to wake Catherine. Not yet. Having her body next to his, relaxed and content, beat the hell out of another day of struggling for polite or impolite conversation. Maybe they should finally have it out, fight like an old married couple, then make up like the lovers he wanted them to be.

  Later. If he got the balls to do so.

  For now, Tim rolled to her side of the mattress and inhaled deeply, luxuriating in her signature fragrance and the scent of sex. Both were too faint. He frowned and reached for her. His arm fell to the mattress.

  What the fuck?

  Propped on his elbow, Tim saw she wasn’t in bed. Where then? The balcony, watching the sunrise? He padded to the terrace, his hand shielding his face from the intense light. She wasn’t there either.

  The bath? No.

  Surely, she couldn’t be on the beach, stretched out on the massage table with Garon giving her another rubdown. She hadn’t wanted him in the least. In the proverbial light of day, Tim realized something he hadn’t earlier when he’d been too wound up by her presence, too injured from the past. She’d allowed another man to touch her only to get back at him for referring to her as something less than she was.

  Tim understood another truth.

  Catherine could sleep with a thousand men and she’d still be the woman he wanted. He’d known it all along, despite her having lied about her past and present. He’d allowed his pride, then his anger to get the best of him, making him want to hurt her.

  Idiot. Moron.

  He yanked on a clean pair of cotton pants and ran into the hall. Oria, one of the older women who’d set up last night’s meal, stopped in the foyer as he bounded down the stairs toward her. Tim panted, “Where’s Catherine?”

  Oria glanced up toward his bedroom. “Isn’t she with you?”

  Fuck. Tim ran into the kitchen, hoping Catherine had gotten hungry and followed the tempting scent of freshly baked bread. His cook gave Tim a broad smile. “Good morning, Mr. Bellamy.”

  “Has Ms. Oliver been in here?”

  The older man shook his head. “No.”

  Tim ran out onto the beach, stumbling over the sand. The morning breeze whipped his hair and pants. The massage table was empty, no Garon or Catherine in sight. Surely, she couldn’t have gone with the young man to his house. She was hurt and pissed, yes, but she didn’t want Garon. She wouldn’t do that to herself.

  She wouldn’t do that to me.

  With mounting unease, Tim turned and stared at the young man’s lime-colored home. Garon exited the structure, saw him and waved, then headed toward the mansion for his day of work. Clearly he hadn’t been with Catherine. Even the world’s biggest prick couldn’t be that casual if he’d had another man’s woman in his bed.

  Where are you?

  Tim faced the ocean and felt as though someone had punched him in the gut. Catherine couldn’t have gone in for a dip and gotten in trouble and—

  Shit no. No fucking way was he going to think that or worry about her knowing how to swim or not. Her coming out here at this hour, without him, just didn’t make sense. She had to be in the mansion.

  Back inside, he ran from room to room shouting her name. Bastian climbed the stairs.

  “I can’t find Ms. Oliver,” Tim said to the man. “Check the grounds. Take Garon with you.”

  “Mr. Bellamy,” Oria said from behind. “I found this in your room. It’s addressed to you.”

  He regarded the folded paper in her hand. She offered it. Instinctively, Tim stepped back. Catherine had written him a note? Why? Where in the fuck was she? She couldn’t have left. They were on a goddamn island, for Christ’s sake.

  His hand shook as he took the paper and opened it.

  I can’t do this, her note began. It hurts too much.

  Tim swallowed and turned his back to his staff as he continued to read.

  When I saw you at the party, I wanted to be with you. That’s all. No matter what you think, I had no agenda.

  You gave me some of the most wonderful moments of my life. Now that they’re over, I can’t pretend to be what you think I am. I won’t.

  I really wanted you, Tim. Only you. Nothing else. I didn’t want it to end. Our day here made me realize how impossible that was.

  Alexa arranged for a pilot to bring me back. Don’t call the agency, please. We won’t be seeing each other again.

  It was just past seven in the morning, but Tim didn’t care. He strode down the hall to Hunt’s apartment and banged the side of his fist against the door a number of times, then waited.

  Nothing.

  Again, he called Hunt’s cell phone. Tim could hear the damn thing ringing inside the unit. Hunt didn’t pick up.

  “Come on,” Tim shouted. “Open the damn door.” He pounded on it again.

  Down the hall, another door cracked open, an elderly couple behind it.

  “Sorry,” Tim said to them, not meaning it a bit. “My friend and I have a flight to catch. We don’t make it, we’re toast, you know?”

  Without answering, the older man closed the door and threw the lock.

  Tim continued hammering, the side of his fist aching from it.

  At last, the door opened. A toothbrush hung from the side of Hunt’s mouth, his eyes narrowed in a murderous glare. In the center of the room, Alexa stood, clutching her ivory silk robe to her throat.

  “I need to talk to you,” Tim said to her and pushed past Hunt.

  Just as quickly, the man grabbed Tim’s arm and swung him away from Alexa. Hunt pulled his toothbrush from his mouth and growled, “Don’t even think of raising your voice to her. You do, you’re dead.”

  “Everything all right in there?”

  “Fine,” Alexa said to a young man in the hall dressed in running gear. “Sorry we disturbed you.” She hurried to the door and shut it.

  Hunt crowded Tim, forcing him to step back. Tim’s legs hit a chair. Hunt snapped, “You don’t come to our place at this hour—hell, at any fucking hour—and pound on our door.”

  “If you would have answered my fucking calls, I wouldn’t have had to,” Tim shot back, then spoke to Alexa, making his voice nice but firm. “I need Catherine’s address.”

  She frowned. “No.”

  No? He wanted to scream. These last days since she’d left the island had been pissing torture he couldn’t endure any longer. “Please,” he begged as he never had in his life.

  Alexa exchanged a glance with Hunt. Surprise registered on his face. He lifted his shoulders as if he hadn’t a clue what to tell her.

  “Catherine left,” Tim said, his words filled with pain he couldn’t stop. “But you know that already. I’ve been to her school. They wouldn’t tell me shit, except that she withdrew from classes this semester. They didn’t say why or if she’d be returning. I’ve called the damn nursing home. The staff told me they had strict orders from Catherine not to tell me anything about Opal. That I was not allowed to come by and see her. They told me if I did, they’d have me removed. I’ve waited in the lot. She never arrives or leaves. She must be hiding in Opal’s room, unless she’s moved her to another place. I don’t fucking know.” He breathed hard. “I tried to find out where she lives, but she must be renting under a different name than Oliver, maybe her real one. I don’t know. I can’t find her.”

  “Why would you want to?” Alexa asked, stepping around Hunt. “The things you said to her. The way you acted.”

  “I’m sorry, all right? I was hu
rt, pissed, shocked. Jesus, when I saw you two at the mall, when the pieces started fitting together, I just reacted. I didn’t stop to think.”

  Alexa looked unconvinced. “But you have now?”

  Tim spoke to Hunt. “What would you have done if you had been me and Catherine had been Alexa? If you hadn’t known from the beginning about her working for the agency? If you’d found out as I did?”

  Hunt shot a look at Alexa, his expression telling Tim that no way was he going to answer those questions.

  He didn’t have to. Tim saw the truth on Hunt’s face. That he would have been devastated. Any man would. Tim Bellamy wasn’t a monster or a prick. He was simply imperfect, the same as everyone else.

  “I have to see Catherine again, please,” Tim pleaded, prepared to do anything to achieve that. “I have to talk to her.”

  “Why?” Alexa asked.

  “To tell her I love her,” Tim blurted. He didn’t care if he was behaving like a fool. If Hunt or Alexa had laughed, it wouldn’t have mattered. He had no pride left. Having Catherine in his life again was his only goal, the only way he could continue. “I can’t live without her.”

  Catherine locked the door to her studio apartment, a cramped three hundred and fifty square feet that seemed too large and empty suddenly. She needed to be around other people, strangers she could listen to and watch, wondering about their lives in order to blunt her own misery. Since returning to the District, she couldn’t get used to the cold, hating it, dreaming instead of balmy summer nights, the scent of bougainvillea, coconuts, mangos.

  The feel of a strong male body next to hers.

  Not Tim’s. Never again Tim’s. She’d broken free, the separation quick and clean. Okay, maybe not so clean. The memory of his caress and kiss, his scent and heat dogged her through every day and her dreams at night.

  She had to put them aside and move forward. Alexa had booked her for next weekend with a new client. Catherine hoped to god she could go through with the appointment. She had to pay for her master’s program when she finally returned to school, when she had the strength to do so. She had to see to Opal’s continued care.

  Just do it, she ordered herself, thinking the Nike commercial was incredibly naïve for using that slogan. Doing it and wanting it were worlds apart and kept immobilizing her with sorrow.

  As best she could, Catherine fought her grief. Protected by her heavy pea coat, a woolen scarf, turtleneck, jeans and boots, she exited the building, braving the outside temps. A blast of wind hit her on the front doorstep. Shivering, she leaned against the jamb, wanting to cry.

  A number of car doors slammed. A plane flew overhead, its engine rumbling for a moment. Around her, the city was coming alive for the day, people leaving for work or school, engaging in normal activities that made them happy or sad. She swallowed hard and covered her eyes with her hand.

  “Catherine.”

  At the sound of her name—that all-too-familiar voice—her heart stalled, then beat far too quickly. Dropping her hand, Catherine stared at Tim crossing the narrow street, unmindful of the car coming down it. With his attention on her, he held up his hand to warn the vehicle to stop. The driver honked his horn. Its shriek didn’t break Tim’s focus that remained on her.

  She pushed into the door, wanting to flee and hide inside, unable to bear any more hurt.

  Tim rushed up the steps. Catherine turned her back to him and pleaded, “Go away. Please.”

  Gently, he turned her around and pulled her into him, holding her tight, his scent and warmth surrounding her. “I’m sorry. Oh god, I am so sorry. I was hurt and I wanted to get back at you. It’s no excuse. I was a bastard. A fool. I should have told you how I felt on the island. I should have treated you with the respect you deserve.”

  She continued to push against him. He wouldn’t let her go.

  “Respect?” she cried. “You know what I do.”

  “It doesn’t matter. Well, yeah, it does, but not for the reason you think,” he added quickly, then eased back just enough so he could see her. “I don’t want you to ever be with anyone except me.” He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her lips gently, keeping her from speaking again. He next kissed her cheeks, temple, eyebrows, forehead. “I know you have obligations and I’ll help with your expenses, school, Opal, whatever else needs to be taken care of so you don’t have to—look, what you did in the past is your business. I’ll never again say anything about it. I only care about the future, yours with me.”

  Catherine stared at him, uncertain whether she’d heard him correctly, if this could actually be happening. Maybe she’d finally gone over the edge and he wasn’t here, she was simply hallucinating it. She’d really never see him again. “How’d you even get here?” she blurted.

  “What?”

  “How’d you get—”

  “My car,” he interrupted, his breath fogging in the frigid air. He inclined his head to where he’d parked. “I drove.”

  “No. How did you know where to find me?”

  He looked sheepish suddenly. Guilty?

  “You had me investigated?”

  “Only your address, I swear.” He frowned. “You’re not renting under Oliver, so I couldn’t find your place.”

  “Then how else could you have known—Alexa?” Catherine asked, interrupting herself.

  Tim was back to looking sheepish.

  “She actually told you where I live?” Why would she do that?

  He didn’t say.

  Oh my god. “What did you do to her?”

  “Are you kidding?” His frown was back. “I raised my voice a little to let her know I needed your address, and there was Hunt, huffing and puffing, ready to throw me through the damn door of their apartment.”

  He’d gone there to find out about her, putting his pride on the line? He’d been that desperate? “Hunt would have to be crazy to lay one hand on you.”

  “Trust me, he is whenever it comes to Alexa. He was acting like—”

  “I meant, if he dared touch you, you would take him down in a second. I keep telling Alexa that.”

  His eyebrows shot up. “You two talk about Hunt and me having a physical fight, actually hitting each other?”

  Heat rushed to her cheeks, no doubt making them rosier than the icy day.

  Tim noticed. He grinned. “You think I’d win?”

  Catherine thought he was the most wonderful man she’d ever known. A tear ran from the corner of her eye to her cheek.

  “Oh shit, don’t cry,” he murmured. “Think about what I said before, okay? Give us a chance. I’ll be good to you, I swear. Whatever you need, I’ll give it to you. If that goes against your principles, we’ll make it a loan. You can pay me back. We’ll have an iron-clad contract, all of it in your favor. As far as everything else is concerned, I’ll do all that I can to make you happy. Opal too. I love you.”

  Her shoulders shook with her weeping. “What?”

  Tim hugged her so hard, she couldn’t breathe. “I adore you.”

  Catherine cried even harder, her tears and the strain of the past days draining her so much, she sagged against him, wrapping her arms around his torso. “You mean it?”

  “I do.” He pressed his face into her hair and inhaled deeply. “Even if you don’t feel the same about me.”

  Don’t feel the same? She eased back and searched his face. Dark circles rimmed his eyes. He hadn’t shaved in days. His hair was a mess. His rumpled clothes told her he’d probably slept in them.

  He looked like a man in pain…one who was hopelessly in love.

  “Don’t ever question my feelings for you,” she whispered. “I lied because of them. I didn’t want our relationship to be over.”

  “It’s just beginning. I promise.” He reached behind her and opened the door to her building. “Invite me inside, Catherine. Take me into your life…your real life. I want to know everything about you.”

  She panicked at the thought.

  Tim must have noticed. He whispered
, “Please.”

  “Some of it’s not pretty. A lot of it is just sad.”

  He brushed away her newest tears and murmured, “Then we’ll have to create happy memories for you and us. Starting now.”

  Two of the most beautiful words in the English language.

  Catherine didn’t resist as Tim led her inside. With a gentle push, he closed the door on the outside world. They stared at each other for minutes, as though neither of them could believe their good fortune.

  Smiling, and fighting tears too, they moved toward her apartment, their future.

  About Tina Donahue

  Tina Donahue is an award-winning, bestselling novelist in erotic romance, and an admitted chocoholic known to down semi-sweet candy bars in grocery checkout lines. She lives with her family in Palm Springs, California, where tires melt in the 120-degree summer heat and an occasional earthquake puts everyone on notice to bolt things down. When she’s not writing her steamy stories, trying to stay cool or crawling beneath her desk during a trembler, she loves shopping, eating at her favorite Mexican restaurant and meeting other authors. Before she wrote romance, Tina was the editor of an award-winning Midwestern newspaper and worked in Story Direction for a Hollywood production company.

  Tina welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website and email addresses on her author bio page at www.ellorascave.com.

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